Due to his hilarious “(expletive) in the Box” digital short with Andy Samberg on “Saturday Night Live” and inspired “History of Rap” segments on “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon,” it’s easy to see Timberlake is a natural-born entertainer, but it’s hard to take him seriously anymore as a singer.

In addition to his uncanny knack for sketch-comedy, SNL’s newest Five-Timers Club member has a solid screen presence (as evidenced by his scene-stealing role in “The Social Network”) and an incredible singing voice. Yes, the man can sing. And, in many ways, Timberlake is rightful heir to the King of Pop.

Unfortunately, most of the overstuffed numbers on Timberlake’s first album in six-and-a-half years, “The 20/20 Experience,” sound like song parodies in search of a punch line.

During the course of this bloated 70-minutes-plus album, Timberlake compares his lover to meth (talk about “Breaking Bad”), Bubblicious bubblegum, a sex-starved space alien, an Easy-Bake Oven of sorts and his reflection in the mirror. On top of that, seven of the album’s 10 tracks are more than seven-minutes long (including three clocking in at the eight-minute mark.) Yikes!!! Nothing, especially a Justin Timberlake song, needs to be that long. It’s torture.

Timberlake is just a “junkie” for your love on the leadoff track, “Pusher Lover Girl. Despite it being totally irresponsible for a squeaky-clean pop star to be rattling off a series of illicit drugs that could put you in the slammer and/or the morgue, Timberlake’s flawless falsetto is so smooth and seductive that it momentarily makes you overlook the bad drug metaphor. Backed by Benjamin Wright Orchestra, the song starts as a lavish throwback to sophistication and class, before slipping into a slinky hip-hop groove.

For those of you who ever wonder what Ken (aka Barbie’s boyfriend) would be like if he came to life and was full of himself, you don’t have to look any further than “Suit & Tie.” In his quest to become an honorary member of The Rat Pack, the ex-Mouseketeer sets out to show us a few things about neo-soul and R&B romance. His soulful, silver-tongued croon delivers an insanely (and inanely) catchy chorus about looking good and how he’s going to be stripping down to his birthday suit by evening’s end. And, in what seems like a well-calculated corporate merger and not-so-subliminal advertising for their co-headlining summer stadium (which stops Aug. 10 at Fenway Park), Timberlake hoodwinks and hobnobs with Beyoncé’s hubby Jay-Z, who pontificates about Armageddon, his in-laws, designer threads, the “N-word” and how “This is truffle season, Tom Ford tuxedos for no reason. In the end, you can dress up in a suit and tie but that doesn’t make you The Chairman of the Board.

“Don’t Hold the Wall” is a brain-dead, dance–floor ditty that makes Jennifer Lopez’ “On the Floor” sound like “Kashmir.” A sonic marvel as well as sonic monstrosity to behold, Timberlake’s go-to guy Timbaland (who also helmed the bulk of “FutureSex/LoveSounds” and co-produced each track on “ The 20/20 Experience” with Timberlake and Jerome “J-Roc” Harmon) weaves together Middle-Eastern strings, clanky rain-sticks percussion and chirping crickets to create an unrelenting, club-hopping groove for the song’s sub-par mantra of “Dance, dance, don’t hold the wall” to be pummeled in the ground to. Instead of holding the wall, most likely you will want to hit your head against it.

Timberlake is a regular “Charms Blow Pop” in search a “Bubblicious” babe on the laughably bad bubblegum pop ditty, “Strawberry Bubblegum.” Sounding like something his former boy band ’N Sync would record (and not a 32-year-old), Timberlake boasts, “Little girl won’t you be my strawberry bubblegum/Then I’d be your blueberry lollipop/And then I love you ’til I’ll make you pop.” Here’s a word of caution for the ladies. If your boyfriend is sporting a “blueberry lollipop,” demand he sees a doctor immediately or give him his walking papers.

Timberlake does a lousy job loving the alien on the David Bowie rip-off, “Spaceship Coupe.” Not only does this song never get off the launch pad, there are no signs of intelligent life anywhere.

Talk about being the man in the mirror. On the gooey ballad, “Mirrors,” Timberlake serenades his lover, whom he finds to be a perfect reflection of himself. Flawlessly shifting from caressing croon to tender falsetto, Timberlake lets the audience decide if he’s singing to his better half (aka, his wife Jessica Biel, who he’s obviously in “7th Heaven” with) or merely his mirror image. Even if you consider this romantic drivel or out-of-check narcissism at its worse, it’s hard to argue that Timberlake doesn’t deliver the good, despite the song’s whopping eight-minute length.

Timberlake’s voice is haunting as it floats through a murky mix of reversed synth-loops, ambient beats and sparse piano noodlings on the Radiohead-inspired closer, “Blue Ocean Floor.” Not only does it sound like he’s a disembodied spirit is submerged underwater, it sounds unlike anything he has ever recorded.

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